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The doorbell rang five minutes after the receptionist phoned ahead to tell Ms. McMorning her guest was on his way up. She draped herself on the large, creamy couch in the middle of the room, her long, slender (fake) tanned legs shown off delightfully, and her large, round (fake) breasts displayed like two brown leathery bowling balls bursting out of a black satin sandwich bag. Bad metaphor? Blimey! I’m not Frank Leigh, you know. Stop interrupting.The doorbell rang, a soft dingdong that announced the great writer’s presence just beyond those cream and gold gilded doors. Ms. McMorning’s bowling balls heaved in excitement and determination. She waited. Frank Leigh waited.Dingdong.Ms. McMorning called softly to the waiting figure.“Come in.”Nobody came in.She called a bit louder.“Come in!”Dingdong.“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she grumbled, indelicately rolling herself off the couch (she wasn’t as limber as she used to be at this time in the evening). Stalking slinkily to the door in her black,. I decided to look elsewhere, looking at Melissa was only turning me on more and was finding it hard to resist the temptation yearning for satisfaction between my thighs. In the seat immediately to my right was a guy, who given the light I thought was maybe, fifteen or sixteen, obviously there with his girlfriend as they were holding hands. This is no good, I thought, I must watch this film and get my mind off sex. For the next fifteen or twenty minutes I managed to start concentrating and was actually feeling pretty normal again. Hearing shuffling from the seat to my right, I turned slowly to see what was going on. The guys girlfriend was now sitting on his lap, legs curled up as if he was part of the chair and were locked together kissing passionately. Seeing them together inflamed my desires once more, his hand up under her top, obviously caressing her breasts, my own nipples now hard again, my pussy becoming wet again as I saw that her skirt was hitched up, revealing all of her.
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